MOONTRAP: A collection of English Poems

| book |

They were only words
typed meticulously on some yellow pages
but they looked like blood
of some writer
whose glimpse I saw in those curvy fonts

The love of his life
the cries of his wife
the pain of his heart
the smell of his art
it was all there

open    naked    revealed   unbarred

and then I read about their first meeting
on some English Bridge
where they could hear the song of the river
the song of the river,
It sometimes confuses me
their reality
drawn like fantasy cartoons 
in their stories,
slowly engulfing me in the black hole
they keep on creating
and I find myself distant from
my own reality
the stress, the complexities, the stupidity
of daily life just vanishes
and I am in a new world
contained in this little old book
and I live every page of it
smell every rose of it
dance at every word of it
and it all feels like a dream,
a strange wave of sadness
passing through my heart
a rare set of smiles
appearing on my lips
and all these characters 
drawn in ink
feel so real

in those moments
in those moments

as if I could touch them
sit with them
in the scenery the writer created
but then it all gets over
and I go back to sleep
and close my eyes to the real world
and when I wake up
the next morning
I do remember 
a few pieces of my dream.
Unburnt fragments,
I fee like I was there,
at that bridge
and I had a rose
in my hand
hiding,
but the river just took it away.
A dream, perhaps,
or a reality which only 
I could experience,
and I smile at the book
the old vintage storybook. 

~  a u g u s t